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Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.

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In Cardiff Jail In Cardiff Jail, grey dawn breaks on razored walls and living-blocks of stone. High barren landings amplify harsh slamming gates, and emphasise the echoes of the bosses' yells and rattled keys of doors that only ever bang behind. Alone I trudge the long dark tunnel of my ''time'' – caged bird, spiralling inside the wasteland of a mind with nothing gained and nothing left. Pleasure is the hotplate stop for porridge slop and morning shuffle round a yard with obscure friend of bully-boy and baron – grass – and those but barely sane. Hear torment in the traffic roar. Is she some minute blended part of that? sharing lungfuls of this fitful breeze? I flee from gulls that scream and soar and laugh at me, - ''come see, we're free!'' – and merge into my daily chore of sweep and swab; then buff the polished floor amid the clanging steel and shouts; dream my boredom; cry my shame; or grind my hate and shift the blame. Again, her ''Dear John'' crashes in my brain, so blacking out some distant light. For she's out there somewhere with him, and I must stay within this wing of rusty bars and bang-up cells, in my grey world of yesterdays where tomorrow always stays some distant unknown-life away.

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In Cardiff Jail

In Cardiff Jail In Cardiff Jail, grey dawn breaks on razored walls and living-blocks of stone. High barren landings amplify harsh slamming gates, and emphasise the echoes of the bosses' yells and rattled keys of doors that only ever bang behind. Alone I trudge the long dark tunnel of my ''time'' – caged bird, spiralling inside the wasteland of a mind with nothing gained and nothing left. Pleasure is the hotplate stop for porridge slop and morning shuffle round a yard with obscure friend of bully-boy and baron – grass – and those but barely sane. Hear torment in the traffic roar. Is she some minute blended part of that? sharing lungfuls of this fitful breeze? I flee from gulls that scream and soar and laugh at me, - ''come see, we're free!'' – and merge into my daily chore of sweep and swab; then buff the polished floor amid the clanging steel and shouts; dream my boredom; cry my shame; or grind my hate and shift the blame. Again, her ''Dear John'' crashes in my brain, so blacking out some distant light. For she's out there somewhere with him, and I must stay within this wing of rusty bars and bang-up cells, in my grey world of yesterdays where tomorrow always stays some distant unknown-life away.